As this is the first official post for a project that I hope will build into a community, let’s start with the idea of a writing community.
Picture it – 2 a.m. on a windless summer night. A “writer” is in his backyard with his laptop working on what he believes will be a classic novel. He will go to school the next day and, between yawning, brag about being up at 2 a.m. writing. He will read stories of Emily Dickinson, J.D Salinger, and Thomas Pynchon, romanticizing the life of a recluse author: those mysterious figures whose work surpassed them.
Why did I idealize this lifestyle? Somehow, when I decided I wanted to be a writer, I absorbed the notion that writing is a solitary art, that in order to be truly great, I had to disconnect myself from the world, retreat to a cabin in the woods, and just… write.
Sixteen Years Later.
It is March 2020, and I, like much of the world, was forced into isolation. Continue reading